Whumptober 2019: Avengers Edition
by Fiercelyyours
Summary: Marvel themed Whumptober Prompts! I started late but these will be primarily involving Steve, Natasha, Peggy Carter, and any other Marvel character that calls to me. I favor Romanogers.
1. Fever

Natasha quietly pushed open the door to Steve's room in the Avengers compound, the silence inside making her heart come to her throat. Hastily she stole to his bedside and pressed her fingers into his neck, blazing with heat, checking for a pulse. It was there, but faintly. She sat on the side of his bed, fighting down the panic she felt whenever she looked at his flushed, damp face. Grimly she placed a cool cloth on his forehead, and he stirred slightly.

"Nat?" His voice was hoarse. She took his hand and squeezed, "Yeah," she whispered back. As if it would be anyone else. The Avengers compound had been all but deserted after the snap, and to top it all off, a fever had swept the United States, making the death toll even more catastrophic. She and Steve had stayed behind to keep communications between the team open. All that had fallen to the wayside now, Natasha's only goal was to get Steve through this alive.

Steve smiled, a small painful expression, "You look like Hell," he said, taking in her disheveled appearance and strained expression. She smiled wryly back at him, "I've looked worse. Can you sit up?" Steve frowned but Natasha didn't wait for him to respond, She lifted his upper body to a sitting position with some difficulty and braced him against her shoulder. She began spoon feeding him broth with grim insistence, "You need to keep your strength up Steve." He made an effort to obey, but his body began to convulse with shivering, making eating all but impossible. Natasha stubbornly continued to try to get the broth past his lips but Steve grabbed her hand and protested weakly, his teeth beginning to chatter, "P-please Nat. J-just stop." She stopped.

Steve lowered himself back onto his pillows and looked at her apologetically. Her expression was unreadable, her hands pulling at the roots of her hair was the only thing that gave away the depth of her distress.

"Nat," Steve said gently, "Come here to me." He stretched an arm towards her weakly, propping himself onto his elbow with difficulty. She came and sat on the edge of his bed, reluctantly letting him take her hand.

"Nat we have to face-"

"No we don't!" She said sharply, cutting him off and pulling her hand free. "Don't give me these excuses! You have super serum in your blood! God Steve why won't you fight it?!"

Steve looked at her tiredly, "Nat I'm not sure what you want me to do."

She stood and looked at him, her eyes wide and frightened, "Not die," she said quietly. "I want you to not leave me alone in this world, with no family, no friends." She choked on her emotion and turned away from him.

"Nat," Steve swung his legs over the bed and tried to stand, but the weakness of his body wouldn't allow it. He stumbled and clutched at the bedside lamp, knocking it over with a crash. Natasha turned just in time to catch him, staggering under his weight. He clutched at her, and she guided him back to the bed where he sank back down heavily, winded and flushed. Natasha guided his head back to the pillow, shushing him and replacing the cool cloth on his head. He caught her hand and drew her down to him.

"Rest here with me," he wheezed, "Please?"

Natasha met his eyes, so blue and open, and after a moment she nodded, climbing under the covers to lay beside him. They lay there silently for a moment, until Natasha slowly rolled to her side, wrapping an arm around Steve and curling her head into his shoulder. He drew her in gently, giving her a little squeeze.

"It should be me," she said quietly. "It would be so much easier if it were me."

"No, Nat," Steve's voice came in barely a whisper, "Not for me it wouldn't."

She looked up at him, his face pale and drawn. He had fallen asleep.


	2. Stab Wound

He couldn't stop replaying that sickening scene over and over again in his mind. Natasha, fierce and beautiful in battle, her red hair sparking copper in the midday sun. Himself, shield in hand, back to back with her, both of them fighting off the alien invasion of New York. In a moment of deadly fatigue, Steve had turned to check for more assailants, missing one approaching him from his other side. Seeing this, Natasha had sprung into action, stepping out of the safety of his six, raised her pistol and shot the alien, but not before his long blue spear had pierced deeply into her side. The enemy fell dead at her feet, and Natasha fell to her knees soon after, clutching numbly at the gaping wound in her side. She had looked up at him then, her hands covered in her own blood and her green eyes wide with shock.

"Sorry," she had breathed in a whisper, and collapsed.

Steve had scooped her up into his arms and taken off running, ignoring Natasha's semi conscious cries of pain. He knew if he couldn't find her a safe hiding place, she would certainly be killed. Outside the perimeter of the fighting, Steve ducked into a park and ran deep into the trees until he felt they were reasonably sheltered from attack. He gingerly laid her down, cushioning her on a layer of dried leaves. The tightness in his chest increased as he saw the blood stain she had left on his uniform, and the pale sheen of sweat on her face. She looked at him dully, not really seeing him, and swallowed hard with a shudder.

Steve quickly exposed the wound, ripping the fabric of her suit so he could see it, then hastily packing it firmly with his jacket in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Natasha winced but was otherwise silent, her face screwed up and turned away from him. After a moment she looked at him, reach a bloodstained hand weakly out to touch his arm.

"There's nothing more you can do," she said hoarsely, "You need to go back to help the others, I'll make my way back to the tower, stay out of sight. We have to-" the pain cut off her words briefly and she grimaced, "We have to fix the comms!"

"No," Steve said flatly. "I'm not leaving you alone, and you can't go anywhere in your condition."

"Steve-"

"Natasha stop it!"

Natasha looked at him startled. Steve's face was flushed, his hands curled into fists. He took a deep breath, "I can't. I just can't leave you here alone."

Natasha's lips pressed together in a grim line as she listened to the sound of the battle in the distance. The pain in her side was nearly blinding, her vision was dark around the edges, but she pushed it away with a force of will and struggled to sit up.

"Nat what are you'"

"Just help me sit up."

Steve gently eased her up to lean against a tree, his hands gentle on her looked up at him grimly and placed her hand on his, summoning all her strength.

"This is not the worst I have endured," she reminded him softly, "I have lived through far worse."

"Natasha-"

"No Steve! That's our team out there! Our FAMILY. They are flying blind without the comms! And you are going to just rest here in the woods? Steve, they need us!"

Stave dragged his hands through his hair, his eyes traveling down to her side where the wound was steadily soaking his jacket with blood. Seeing him looking she pressed her hand hard into her side to slow it. An explosion in the distance caused them both to jump and Steve whipped his head towards the sound with a pained expression.

"Go, I'll be alright," her voice was low and comforting.

He turned back to look at her. She looked so vulnerable leaning there against the tree, so small. He started to shake his head, unable to imagine how he could abandon her in such a critical state, when another explosion sounded in the distance. The horizon glowed red and they both noted it with a look of horror.

Her eyes were hard as they met his, all trace of weakness gone. "I'm armed, I'll make my way back and tell Jarvis what's happened. He'll reconnect the team and you can get them organized on the ground."

Still Steve hesitated, even as he realized her plan was a good squeezed her hand, clearly distressed.

"Steve if you don't go I will never forgive you."

He looked up at her, startled. Her face was fierce, with a glint in her eye that made Steve swallow hard.

She continued, "I let my guard down and stepped out of formation which is why I got stabbed. That's on me. But if you let our friends die because you couldn't muster up the strength to leave me I swear on the souls of my parents that I will NEVER forgive you."

In a sudden spurt of strength, she leveraged herself against the tree at her back and stood, with only the smallest of grimaces to bely her pain. Arm wrapped around her middle she placed the other hand on Steve's chest and smiled softly at him, "We both know it's the right thing to do."

Without a word Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, surprising Natasha. She kissed him back shyly, but with growing feeling. Pulling away Steve grasped her firmly by the shoulders.

"I'll meet you back at the tower then. Don't be late."

She shook her head, "I won't. Now go."

Reluctantly he turned and left, not looking back. She watched him until he was well out of sight, then sank to the ground with a shudder. She touched her lips dazedly., "He's going to be so angry.." was the last thought she had before the darkness pulled her under.


	3. Shackled

10-9. Shackled

"You know if you like hitting women now's your chance." Peggy Carter yanked pointedly at the chains that secured her firmly to the interrogation table, her brow arched in challenge over dark brown eyes. Agent Thompson looked at her in silence for a moment, taking in the scenario in which he found himself. Agent Carter, accused of being a Russian spy, and shackled before him for interrogation. She was helpless, at his mercy, and yet didn't seem to feel herself in any danger. She had no idea what they had authorized him to do to her. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.

He frowned at her, "I could use force Carter, you understand that? I don't want to, but I could."

"It doesn't matter," she said, looking down at her chained hands, "You'll do what you think is right."

Thompson snorted, "You know what I think is wrong? An SSR agent secretly working for Russia and feeding them our nation's secrets. I think that is incredibly wrong."

Her eyes snapped up at that and she glared at him, "We agree on that Agent Thompson, which is why my being detained here while the REAL Russian spy is at large strikes me as so completely ridiculous!" Her chains clattered against the table as she gave them a yank in frustration. "I am a patriot."

"But of which country?" Thompson eased himself into the chair across the table from her. He could sense the other Agents watching behind the glass, wondering just how far he would have to go to break Peggy Carter. He knew his reputation for brutality was widespread, and Peggy knew it too, had seen him in action. He couldn't help but feel irritated that no sign of anxiety showed on the womans face. He leaned forward, his voice low and dangerous, "Who are you working for?"

Peggy stared at him levelly, "The same people you work for, the SSR. Really Jack this is just shoddy police work. The woman you should be looking for is Dottie Underwood-"

Thompson reached forward and grabbed the chains that bound Peggy and wrenched them forward, stretching her arms and upper body flat over the table. She coughed as the edge of the table dug into her abdomen, but otherwise made no sound. Thompson held her there, his face even with hers as he whispered, "You and I have never gotten along Carter. It will not be hard for me to do what I have to do to get information out of you." He pulled the tension in the chains tighter, making the shackles bite into Peggy's wrists painfully. "Tell me the truth before I have to do something truly terrible to you."

She winced briefly, then whispered back with a bitter edge to her voice, "You wouldn't know the truth if it bit you in the ass."

He slapped her, hard. It startled him, and he released his hold on her chains. He struggled with himself. This was his job right? That made it the right thing to do, didn't it? He looked at Peggy. She had slid back off the table and to her seat, a red welt rising across her high cheekbone. She glanced down at her wrists, they were bleeding lightly. Looking at him steadily, she turned her rapidly bruising cheek towards him and raised her shackled hands slightly as if to force him to see his handiwork.

"You will always be a coward," she hissed through clenched teeth, "And I have nothing to say to you."

The color rose to his cheeks as her words boiled in him as if he had swallowed acid. Looking at her did nothing to ease his anger. Defiance was etched into her every feature, from the set of her lips to her ramrod straight posture. There was beauty in it, this defiant spy determined to keep her secrets. But there was something else mingled there, it took him a moment to realize what he was seeing. Then it hit him like a punch to the gut.

Pity.

She pitied him.

His sight went completely red in rage and he pulled the table aside forcefully making Peggy's body jerk sideways, and strode purposefully toward her. Her chin jutted higher in contempt but he was viciously pleased to see a brief flash of fear in her eyes as he reached for her. Tangling his hands in the hair at the base of her neck he yanked it backward, exposing her throat.

"Coward I may be," he said lowly in her ear, "But I'm a coward that does my job, and does it well."

At that moment the door to the interrogation room flew open to reveal Edmund Jarvis towering in the doorway.

"You will unhand Ms. Carter at once Agent Thompson," he said with a slight quaver in his voice betraying his stress, "I have here a signed confession from Howard Stark admitting he alone was involved with this unfortunate affair."

"No! Jarvis-" Peggy's voice was strained as she struggled against Thompsons grip. He made no move to release her, still trembling in his anger. Jarvis held the paper out toward him, just out of his reach. Chief Dooley appeared suddenly behind Jarvis and he glanced down at the paper in the taller mans hand. "Thompson, let her go."

As if a spell had been broken, Thompson released his hold on Peggy and straightened up. Jarvis thrust the paper immediately into his hand and fell to his knees before Peggy.

"Are you alright Ms. Carter? Are you hurt?" He quickly took in the now purple bruise across her cheek, the blood on her wrists, and her pale complexion. Peggy's hand shook slightly as she took Jarvis's, her chains cold against his warm hands,"Why Mr. Jarvis," she said rather shakily, "What wonderful timing you have."


	4. Shakey handsNightmare

**Thanks for the follows guys! I would love to hear your thoughts!**

_Methodically, without feeling, Natasha slit the girls throat. Blood covered her hands in a hot crimson wave. She looked at them with mild disdain. The thump of the girls body hitting the floor brought her attention back to the present. She looked around the hospital lobby calmly, surveying the scene with a clinical eye. The bodies of her victims lay strewn about the space. There was no sign of life anywhere, the screaming had stopped, and only silence met her ears. She nodded briefly to herself, another mission accomplished. _

_As she turned to leave one of the bodies caught her eye, and she stopped to look more closely. It was Peter. Lying in a pool of his own blood, his long limbs strewn carelessly, he looked even younger than he had in life. Natasha's stomach jolted unpleasantly. Had she killed Peter? Had she meant to? A glance toward the door brought another body to her attention, Tony this time. His eyes stared unseeing and accusing, into the depths of death. Her frown deepened and her hands began to sweat. She scrunched her eyes shut and opened them again, only to find herself staring into the face of Clint Barton, struggling to hold on to life. Dread began to settle heavily around her as she realized she was holding a knife to his neck. She pulled at her hand, trying to draw back from him, but found she was immobile, unable to control her own body. His eyes bore into hers, and she could not look away._

_"__Do you know what it's like to be unmade?" He asked her, desperation in his voice. _

_"__You know that I do," came her unwilling response._

_Natasha watched as if from far away as she calmly drew the knife across the tender skin of Clint's throat. She tried to scream, felt panicked and sick at heart, but could not make anything release. As Clint slumped to the floor she dropped the knife, holding her hands up before her eyes. Not a tremor of remorse. _

_The sound of screaming in the distance made her head whip up. As she searched the room for the source, a deep dread pooled in her chest, the lights dimmed and flickered, and she shivered. Suddenly she found herself face to face with Wanda, glowing red with power. _

_"__Wake up Natasha," Wanda said in a low, soothing voice, "It's time to wake up." _

Natasha sat bolt upright in bed, soaked with sweat and trembling fiercely. She looked wildly around the room and quickly spotted both Wanda and Clint standing just out of her reach. Clint's hands reached out in front of him, "Nat it's ok, you were dreaming. It's over now."

Wanda nodded, "You're safe."

Natasha's breathing was quick and shallow, and she put a hand on her chest as she struggled to bring it back down to normal. The wildness of her eyes faded as reality settled back around her. She covered her face with her hands, still trembling. Seeing that it was safe to approach her, Clint wrapped her in a hug and spoke soothingly into her hair,"It's all right, you're safe, we're all safe."

Natasha clutched him desperately, as if he could anchor her, his body shielding her from the visions of the nightmare. The dream was vivid in her mind still and she shuddered, grateful that she had control over herself again. She peeked up over the side of Clints arm and saw Wanda looking on sympathetically. With a start, she realized Wanda had also been in her dream.

Wanda smiled a small smile at her, "Do you want to talk about it? Was that hospital someplace you've been before?"

The question hit Natasha like a slap in the face. She pulled away from Clint who looked at her startled, "You dreamed about the hospital? It's been a while since you had that-"

"Clint," Natasha's voice was icy, "Why did you bring her in here?" She whipped her head around to look again at Wanda, "You entered my dream without my permission!"

Wanda stepped back, impelled by the force of Natasha's anger. Wanda looked to Clint for help.

"Nat, you were screaming. I could not wake you, as hard as I tried. It was starting to scare me! I knew Wanda could wake you from inside and I… I just couldn't leave you to suffer like that until morning."

Natasha's teeth were clenched, "Clint that was a private memory!" Her face burned red with shame and she couldn't meet Wanda's eyes.

Wanda looked at Clint in surprise, "Memory?" Clint shrugged.

Natasha stood abruptly, "Yes. memory. I killed all those people, I felt nothing while doing it. I would have killed any of you in the same way if you had gotten in my way back then. Now you know. I'm a cold blooded killer." Her chin shot up and her eyes bore into Wanda's, waiting for her to recoil.

She didn't.

Wanda looked back at her calmly, "Natasha, you aren't the only one with a past." She gestured with a look to Natasha hands, "And you don't look so cold blooded anymore."

Natasha looked down and realized that her hands were shaking visibly, the residual horror and guilt of the dream still ran strong in her blood. She sat abruptly on the edge of her bed, clasping her hands together until her knuckles went white. Clint leaned to bump his shoulder with hers. She looked at him, and her eyes flickered to the skin of his neck, smooth and unbroken. She shuddered and rested her head gingerly against him.

She held her hands before her, small tremors still running through them, and remembered all that they had done. She shut her eyes against the memories, only to feel Wanda and Clint each take a hand in theirs. She squeezed them, eyes still shut.

"Thank you," she whispered, and breathed a sigh of relief.


	5. Unconscious-Stitches

**I combined two prompts for this one! I thought I would play with Carter/Thompson dynamics ;) Let me know what you think! **

Jack Thompson eased the limp and bleeding body of Daniel Sousa onto the bed under the furious gaze of Peggy Carter. He looked at her warily, "Peg-"

"Don't." Peggy's lips were pressed into a thin line, blood trickling gradually down her cheekbone, her hair in disarray. She adjusted Daniel on the pillow and quickly took his pulse. It was there, slow and steady under her fingers. Her tense shoulders dropped a little in relief, but she did not stop her examination. Running her fingers lightly over his body, she made note of the various abrasions she found, applying pressure quickly to the more serious bleeding. Aside from being unconscious, Daniel appeared to be in relatively good shape considering the force of the blow he had taken.

Jack watched her assess her patient, taking in her disheveled appearance then tried again, "You just going to ignore me then Carter?"

Peggy turned, her hands pressing gauze gently against the shallow scrape across Daniel's temple. Her eyes flickered around the ramshackle cabin they were currently hiding in, taking in the cobwebbed corners, the broken cabinets of the rusty kitchen, and the mouldering furniture. They came to rest on Daniel, his dark hair framing a face speckled with blood and looking slightly troubled, even in the state of unconsciousness. She lingered on him a moment, then turned a hard gaze back to Jack, "This is your fault." Her words were simple, but cutting.

"How was I supposed to know there were landmines?"

Peggy stood slowly her face pale with incredulous fury, one arm bracing her side, and spoke to Jack slowly and deliberately, "Because I TOLD you there might be Jack. I TOLD you, but once again you ignored me in favor of your own opinion."

Jacks hands came out from his sides as he struggled for words, "I didn't IGNORE-"

Peggy cut him off, her temper breaking through her constraints, "Daniel could have DIED Jack. We all could have! And that would have been on you."

"It didn't make tactical sense for there to be mines! Why the hell did they plant them so close to their own front door?!"

Peggy's voice went flat, "As I told you before we set out on this mission, I DECODED THEIR MESSAGES." She spoke the last words through gritted teeth, having told him this several times. "You are lucky none of us stepped on the mines directly." She brushed her hair out of her face irritably, smearing the trickle of blood across her cheek and making her look even more war torn.

Jack was silent, his hands clenched in fists. He turned abruptly and started towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Peggy's voice was sharp, alarmed.

"To check the perimeter," he said tersely, "If your majesty will permit me." He half bowed mockingly.

She scowled and turned back to Daniel, waving a hand carelessly at him.

Jack pulled his weapon as he swept his gaze across the snowy landscape around him. The snow was coming down hard. A blessing and a curse, he thought, as the new snow would cover their tracks but also make rescue more difficult. His ears were ringing from the blast they had come so close to being victim to. He shook his head, trying to clear it. They would have to bunk down in their cabin for some time awaiting rescue. He scowled, snowed in the with the gimp and the Queen of England. He couldn't imagine a scenario he would be less likely to enjoy.

He did a mental scan of his body. A few scratches here and there but overall he was fairly unscathed. He knew Peggy was right, they had been lucky to survive.

"Jack…" Peggy's voice came faintly from inside the cabin. He rolled his eyes and ignored her, finishing his scan of the perimeter and sittting himself down on the front step to keep watch. It was silent but for the sounds of the fat snowflakes hitting the snow banks. It looked like they had escaped without being noticed. Minutes stretched by in silence, until Peggy's voice broke through once again.

"J-Jack.." Her voice was higher pitched than before, with a note of alarm in it. He leapt to his feet and ran back inside. It took him a moment to find her. She had tucked Daniel in under some blankets and gone towards the fireplace, he assumed to make a fire. He finally spotted her sitting on the floor with her back against the ratty couch, sagging unnaturally, her arms wrapped around herself.

Jack stole to her side quickly, "Peggy?'

She looked at him dazedly, her lips tinged pale and slightly blue. Jack started in alarm, she had to be losing blood. "Show me where Peg," he said, his voice taking on a note of authority, and her hand fluttered to her right side. "Didn't realize…" she breathed, "Distracted."

Jack quickly yanked open her combat vest and slid it down over her shoulders, tossing it to the side. A large blood stain showed through the layers of her uniform, too big for her, since the SSR didn't make custom uniforms for women. The excess material had kept him from seeing the injury sooner, though upon closer inspection he saw a ragged hole torn into the vest and through the shirt of the uniform. He scowled and gently lifted Peggy up onto the couch, rolling her shirt up to expose her abdomen, crimson and slippery with blood. He snatched his handkerchief from his pocket and began gently wiping the blood away, searching for the wound. He found it after a moment, a gash an inch and a half long along her ribcage.

"Looks you caught some shrapnel Peg," he siag, his eyes focused in on the wound, "Jesus… how could you not notice?"

Peggy shrugged weakly, her eyes flickering once to Daniel's bed. Jack followed her gaze and rolled his eyes. He would never understand that relationship.

Hastily he got up and retrieved the first aid kit from Daniels bedside, shaking his head slightly as he gave the unconscious man a once over. Returning to her side, Jack began carefully picking out the debris from Peggy's wound with a tweezer, hesitating as she flinched.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"That's not something I hear every day," she muttered wryly.

The debris successfully removed, Jack scowled and pressed antiseptic dampened gauze firmly into her side, losing some of his gentleness. Peggy jerked away from his touch but he continued his firm pressure.

"Damn it Jack, that hurts!"

He smiled ironically at her, "Maybe don't taunt your medic Carter. You don't have great self preservation skills."

"At least I don't send people headlong to their death!" She retorted bitingly.

"Look what do you want from me?" Jack stood, abandoning his treatment. "I made a call. It was wrong, but I made it."

Peggy met his anger with her own, her voice strained, clutching at her side and half sitting up as she did so, "If you would listen to one damn thing I said maybe we could work as a TEAM and avoid these disasters!"

She gasped suddenly, a fresh gush of blood flooding through her fingers. She moaned and laid back, turning her face away from him to hide her pain in the moth eaten pillow of the couch. Quickly Jack knelt back down and removed her hands, trembling in either rage, or pain, Jack couldn't tell. Gently this time he put pressure on the wound and held it there until the bleeding slowed. He kept his eyes on his work, even after he heard her sigh and turn her head back to him again. Methodically he cleaned around the wound, wiping away the blood from her stomach and ribs until the skin showed smooth and white again. As he wiped away the last trace of blood, goosebumps raised on her skin. His eyes flickered up to hers and then back down to her now textured stomach.

"I'll start a fire," he said flatly, "Then we need to stitch this up."

She nodded, calmer than he had seen her since they had arrived.

Jack set about starting the fire as Peggy rested, her eyes closed. Once a nice sized flame had been coaxed from the woodpile he checked Daniels vitals and bandages. He noted with satisfaction that the color was returning to his cheeks and his breathing was slow and deep. At least he could be reasonably certain Daniel wouldn't die. Because if he did, he felt certain that Peggy would murder him.

The fire had started to heat the room, and as Jack looked back toward Peggy he saw her visibly relax. As if she knew he was watching her she spoke quietly, "How is he?"

Jack glanced at the dark haired man and shrugged to himself, walking back around to Peggy and sitting on the ground before her. "His vitals look good, he'll be fine," he said not looking at her as he rummaged through the first aid kit for a needle. He felt her eyes on him as he found it and held it to the flame until it glowed red. He waved it in the air waiting for it to cool.

Meeting her gaze he cocked an eyebrow, nodding his head at the needle in his hand, "Ready?"

She nodded and laid her head back, staring up into the dusty rafters. Jack shifted her shirt up again and out of the way, placing one hand on Peggy's stomach to steady her. It was warm and comforting against her cool skin, and she looked at him sidelong to see his expression. He was focused entirely on her wound. He swallowed hard as he held the needle close to her skin and hesitated.

"It's alright," Peggy said, her voice low and resigned, "I've had this done before. I promise I won't cry." She let a wry smile cross her face. Jack returned the smile and, with a deep breath, began stitching the wound shut. She flinched only slightly, keeping herself as still as possible for his sake. For a while he stitched in silence, neither of them knowing what to say. The weight of his hand on her stomach warmed her and made her sleepy.

Finally he looked up at her abruptly, "Look, I am sorry. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."

Peggy's dark eyes were unreadable. She didn't look angry anymore, her expression was thoughtful. He looked away, uncomfortable. A moment of silence stretched between them, the crackling of the fire and Daniel's deep breathing the only sounds in the room.

"I know." she said finally. He glanced at her, but she was staring at the ceiling again, lost in her own thoughts. He tied off the final stitch, drawing his hand off her stomach, his fingers trailing briefly across her skin. She shivered.

"Still cold?" He asked with surprise.

"Oh no I ah… well I suppose just a bit," she replied, seeing that he was looking at the goosebumps that had appeared again on her skin. Jack helped her ease herself up to a sitting position again, wrapping a long strip of cloth bandage around her middle to protect the stitching. Gently he unrolled her shirt so that she was covered again, and tossed a blanket at her.

"Thanks," she said with a smile. He looked at her, surprised. "Well there's something I don't hear from you too often.

She rolled her eyes, "Don't make me regret it." He chuckled and sat down next to her. He looked over at her, and she saw his expression change to a frown as his eyes travelled over her face. "Your face is scratched to hell," he commented.

"Charming," she said dryly. "And you? Any injuries I should be aware of?" Her eyes travelled up and down his body.

"No," he said, leaning over to grab another piece of clean gauze, "I got out pretty much unscathed." She pursed her lips at that but said nothing. Jack had the grace to look sheepish, but he just shrugged. Wetting the gauze with antiseptic he held it up near her face questioningly. She hesitated, but nodded. Gently he began to clean the cuts and scrapes on her cheek.

Peggy cast her eyes down, embarrassed, but looked up when he began to speak.

"In the future," he began slowly and with some effort, "I will listen to your input more carefully."

He met her gaze, their faces close, "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. For a moment they were frozen there, staring at each other, Jacks hand on Peggy's cheek.

The sudden sound of Daniel stirring on the bed behind them made them spring quickly apart. Peggy coughed, "Thank you. I.. appreciate that Jack." As quickly as her injury allowed she stood and made her way back to Daniel's bedside. Jack watched her go, feeling a rush of emotions he could not immediately identify.

"Peggy?" Daniel croaked?

"I'm here Daniel."

With a bang, the front door slammed shut behind Jack as he stalked out into the snow.


	6. Laced Drink

**This one kind of took on a life of it's own! Steve/Nat/Loki **

**Leave a comment!**

The sound of glass shattering barely registered with Natasha as the roaring in her ears informed her that the martini she had been drinking was not all that it seemed to be. Heat rushed rapidly through her veins making her face flush pink. Natasha grabbed the edge of the bar hard, struggling to focus on the face of the bartender, but his back was turned. Natasha's vision blurred and she was disoriented, vaguely aware of a hand on her waist, gently leading her out of the bar. The heat flooding her skin became more intense by the minute, growing from discomfort to rapidly progressing pain. She was aware of nothing but searing heat building in her body, the red behind her eyelids glowing like an ember. As the heat continued to increase, she could almost hear her nerve endings crackling with the pain of it and her vision, already blurred and unfocused, began to go black. . .

* * *

Steve Rogers sat in the dim light of his shared cell looking considerably worse for wear, training a stony blue stare at his cellmate seated on the opposite wall. Loki looked back at him, his face unreadable, then sighed. "Is there a point to this silent interrogation?"

Steve scowled, "I think you're behind this somehow, I just can't figure out how."

Loki cocked his head to the side in mock thought, "Don't hurt yourself trying to sort that one out. It's not a problem you can solve." He looked at Steve's face a moment more before adding, "Because I am not involved."

Steve snorted.

"It's true! I'm in the same predicament you are."

"I find that very hard to believe."

Loki rolled his eyes but before he could respond the cell door opened with a metallic screech and Natasha Romanoff was tossed unceremoniously inside. Steve stood abruptly, looking shocked, but Loki stayed where he was, one raised eyebrow the only sign that Natasha's entrance had made any impression on him at all.

She lay on the stone floor between them, her skin an alarming shade of red. Her face was screwed up in pain and she was curled around herself, her breathing sporadic. Steve was at her side in an instant. "Natasha?" She didn't respond. He put a hand on her arm and she flinched severely, yelping in pain. Loki sat up at this, looking suddenly interested. Steve looked at him, "What?'

Loki pursed his lips thoughtfully, "I think I know what's wrong with her.. But if I'm right.." He shook his head and smiled cheerfully, "Well there's only one way to find out!" He reached for Natasha, but Steve's fist met Loki's jaw, knocking him backward, and he snatched her to his chest. Her back arched in pain and she screamed, fighting against Steve's grasp. Loki looked at Steve with a snarl, "Put her down!" he said through gritted teeth, "unless you want to kill her."

Steve looked at him, uncertainty in his face as he struggled with Natasha in his arms. Loki shrugged, "Fine, be my guest." he settled himself back against the wall again massaging his sore jaw. Slowly, Steve released his hold on Natasha, lowering her to the ground again but placing himself between her and Loki.

"Natasha," he tried again, but Natasha only tossed her head listlessly. Loki snorted, "She can't hear you, she's too far gone."

Steve turned, "What do you mean? Tell me what you know!"

Loki folded his arms lazily over his chest, turning his chin pointedly at Steve to show off the quickly developing colors. "I'm not feeling particularly inclined actually."

Steve scowled and turned back to Natasha, cupping her face in his hands. He felt the incredible heat of her skin in the split second before she gave an ear splitting scream and kicked him hard in the stomach. He wheezed, on all fours as Loki laughed from across the cell.

"I think she's trying to tell you to keep hands to yourself," he chuckled. "She can't stand the heat of your skin."

"What?" Steve asked hoarsely, "My skin?"

Loki nodded, still smiling in amusement, Steve's pain loosening his tongue," She's been poisoned with Asguardian firewater. It's lethal to anyone who isn't Asguardian unless it's treated in time. Otherwise your body burns itself up."

Steve had recovered himself and was listening intently. "What's the treatment?"

Loki rolled his eyes again, "Rapid cooling, obviously. The poison will run its course but if she can stay cool she'll live."

Steve eyed the stone floor of the cell hopefully but Loki shook his head, "That won't be enough. The temperature in here only ensures that her death will be a slow and painful one. Though if you keep touching her that should speed things up!" He added cheerfully. Steve backed away from Natasha carefully. She lay curled at his feet, panting and emitting low moans into the stone floor.

"What can we do?" Steve's voice was strained, his voice coming out in a low whisper. Loki eyed him thoughtfully, then stole a glance at Natasha. His eyes tightened briefly looking at her, her copper hair spilled across her face and the cold stones, her whole body contracted in on itself. Her teeth were bared in agony, her eyes scrunched closed.

"You aren't going to like it," Loki said in a low voice. Steve's head snapped up.

"I'll do anything."

Loki glowered at Steve menacingly, "I can help her. But you have to do everything I say or I will stop and she will die." Steve swallowed hard, but nodded after a quick glance at Natasha, whose breathing had started to spike. "Fine."

Loki took a step closer, "If you lay one finger on me-"

"I won't! I swear it. Now please help her."

Loki grinned suddenly, "This is going to be Hell for you."

He strode past Steve to Natasha's side and lifted her into his arms and carried her over to his side of the cell. Steve started, expecting her to scream, but she only let out a low moan, different from the others. Steve looked at her, uncomprehending for a moment, and then it hit him as she sagged in Loki's arms. It was a moan of relief.

Loki grinned at him and shrugged, "I'm a frost giant."

* * *

The fire in Natasha's body had suddenly abated enough for her to get a handle on her breathing again. She took a slow shuddering breath.

"That's good Natasha," came a low male voice, soft in her ear, "I need you to relax your body so I can help. Take another deep breath and relax your muscles…"

Natasha obeyed, and trembling, released her body from fetal position.

"That's it," the voice said. Natasha felt a cool hand sliding up under her shirt and resting lightly on her abdomen. The sudden coolness that surged from his skin to hers was utter bliss, the abrupt release from pain making his touch sheer pleasure. She shook with relief and reached out to clutch his hand to her stomach, afraid of what would happen if he left. Her center was completely clear of pain, the cool hand seeping relief all the way through to her spine. Shereached out her arms, desperate for him to touch her more, to clear the pain from more of her body.

"Easy," said the low voice, "Don't rush." But he gave her his other hand, and she placed it eagerly on the side of her face. Instantly the pain receded from her head and her vision began to clear. She blinked, her vision blurry, and opened her eyes. As the world around her slowly came into focus, she heard the voice say warily, "Now keep in mind, I'm helping…"

The first thing that registered to her was that she was staring into a pair of ice blue eyes. Steve's? No… She jumped as the pictured came clear and she realized that Loki, the man who had threatened Clint, had tried to kill all of her friends and attempted to take over earth by force was now leaning over her, his hands on her bare skin. She pulled away with a gasp of revulsion, but immediately regretted it. The waves of searing pain crashed back down on her, making her vision go dark and causing her to curl hard into the fetal position once more.

"I'm in Hell," she thought dumbly, the searing heat making her convulse. "This must be Hell."

The torment lasted a moment longer, and then Loki's hands were on either side of her face, quickly clearing her vision, but leaving the rest of her body to the mercy of the poison.

"Look," he said to her firmly, "Do you want my help or not?"

Natasha stared back at him, feeling the flame in her blood surging in her limbs and sending her nerves crackling once more in pain. She swallowed had, then nodded quickly.

He nodded down at her grimly, "If you fight me even a little bit, I'll leave you to your own devices, understand?"

Natasha nodded again, a whimper escaping her tightly pressed lips, much to her chagrin. Loki locked eyes with her for a moment, seeming to be judging her truthfulness. A surge of pain whipped it's way from the top of her spine to the tips of her toes, cracking through her body like a whip. She started, her face contorting, "Please," she whispered, her voice cracking. Natasha's desperate eyes met his wary gaze. "Please Loki."

He nodded, and began methodically removing her jacket.

From across the room Steve watched this play out in horror. There was nothing he could do but watch on. But as Loki slid his hand under Natasha's T-shirt and made to remove it he leapt to his feet.

"What are you playing at Loki?" If you think I'm going to let you-"

"I need access to her skin," Loki said with strained patience. "We don't have much time, interrupt again and that will be it."

Steve stood, his face flushed and fists clenched, as Loki made quick work of Natasha's shirt, stripping her to her bra and rapidly removed his own shirt as well. Pulling her into his chest, Steve saw an initial shudder play through Natasha's body, only to watch her melt against him. Her bare arms went around Loki's pale torso and she pressed her face into the crook of his neck as he methodically ran his hands down the searing hot flesh of her back. Loki smirked at Steve over Natasha's shoulder as she let out a little groan of relief, and wrapped his arms firmly around her, securing her to himself.

For Natasha, the relief was instant and overwhelming. His skin was blissfully cool and smooth and she involuntarily pulled him closer. His hands trailing up and down her back raised goosebumps on her skin and she felt the vibrations of a low chuckle as his fingertips discovered them.

"I'm not so terrible am I?" He said smiling down at her. Natasha was silent. A snarky comment might make him let go of her, but any positive affirmations would only make this whole situation harder for Steve. Loki's feather light touch along her back slowed, then ceased.

"Am I?" His voice was hard.

"No," Natasha whispered hoarsely, "Thank you. Truly."

She heard Steve emit a slight choking noise from across the room and frowned into the side of Loki's neck. This had to be killing Steve, but she couldn't bring herself to care very much. The relief was making her giddy, she felt slightly drunk with it. She breathed deeply, Loki smelled faintly of soap, a cool, clean smell. She ran her hands up the bare skin of Loki's back and noted with some surprise the goosebumps that quickly responded to her touch.

"How long?" Steve's voice was strained.

"Oh only an hour or two," Natasha could hear the grin in his voice and knew that Steve would be murderous. "The poison will run its course. Until then we will just…" Loki ran his fingers up the back of Natasha's neck and she shivered in pleasure, "Kill time."

At that moment the cell door screeched open and two soldiers entered. "On your feet Rogers," the first soldier said roughly.

"What? No!"

Natasha's head whipped up to see Steve being drug from the room. "Nat!"

Her head felt feverish away from Loki's skin, but she made an effort to meet Steve's eyes, "I'll be ok!"

The door slammed shut decisively. Natasha slowly turned to look at Loki, who placed a hand on her feverish face, instantly cooling it. Their eyes met, and it was as if the fire in her blood had been transferred to his eyes, like smoldering blue flames.

Every part of her body that touched his was flooded with cool pleasure, bone melting relief that left her feeling weak. The parts of her that were not touching him bubbled and burned like searing lava had replaced what once was blood in her veins. This was a matter of survival, she told herself as she looked at him. He was the antidote. Without another thought, Natasha seized the hair at the base of Loki's neck and pulled him into a hard, mind melting kiss.


	7. Isolation

**I am doing these all out of order... But here's another!**

**Isolation**

In the moment Natasha had attacked Black Panther with her stingers, she knew she was in over her head. Ice seemed to form in her stomach, Tony and the rest of the team would feel betrayed. Hell, she HAD betrayed them... Those days were supposed to be behind her. This time was different, she told herself. This time she hadn't betrayed them on anyone else's terms, and she hadn't done it for herself either. She couldn't stand to watch the people who had become her family fight any longer, and Steve was right. As she watched Steve and Bucky fly away in the quinjet, set free by her actions, her stomach lurched. There would be consequences. She eyed T'Challa briefly, struggling on all fours, before she took off running. She would find a way to join Steve, for now, she had to get out of there.

A blast of energy hit her solidly in the back, sending her tumbling headfirst into the pavement, bloodying her palms as she threw her hands out to catch herself. She whipped her head over her shoulder to find Tony, his helmet back, his expression livid.

"What. The actual. Hell." Tony spat the words at her individually, his eyes burning. She stared at him wordlessly. He clenched his hands, accusation in his eyes, "Once a spy always a spy huh?"

Natasha glared at him even as her face went white, getting to her feet shakily, "No. We played this wrong Tony. There has to be a better way."

Tony rounded on her, "You don't get to make that call Romanoff!" At that moment, Secretary Ross and several armed guard came jogging up behind Tony. Ross looked around, noting Natasha's bloodied palms and Tony's furious expression. "What call? What's going on? Where's Rogers?"

Without looking away from Natasha Tony replied through gritted teeth, "He escaped." Ross looked at Natasha then, an eyebrow raised. She stared cooly back at him. Ross stared at her for a moment, then seemed to decide something, "Arrest her," he said matter of factly.

"What?" Tony whipped around to Ross, who shrugged.

"It's not as if she has a great track record Stark. I've been waiting for something like this to happen. Take her."

Natasha tensed, backing away from the soldiers approaching her, "Tony…"

He seemed indecisive, then glanced up at the sky, Steve's quinjet long gone, "No I think he's right. You want to behave like a criminal Romanoff? Well now you'll get treated like one. At least this way you will be out of the way."

Natasha smarted, Tony knew her better than this. She snarled at him, "Maybe you should stop creating criminals where there aren't any! Who's betraying who Tony?" He looked at her sharply. Without waiting for a response, she turned and ran. She flew through the hangar, her hair streaming out behind her, and almost made it to the door before the shots rang out around her. She could hear Tony's cry of outrage at the guards. Well that was something, he didn't want her dead then. She wove in and out of the jets that were sheltered there, trying to keep them from getting a good shot at her. She was so close to escaping, only a few yards from the door when T'Challa dropped from somewhere over her head and shot her dead on with a taser gun. She convulsed and fell, hitting her head hard on the ground. The world went black.

When Natasha woke her hands were bound tightly behind her, a guard on either side, pressed shoulder to shoulder in a small boat. The vehicle lurched and fell in the choppy waves, making Natasha's already aching head swim with dizziness. Her shoulders throbbed, telling her that she had been cuffed for some time.

"Alright Widow, time to go," said one of the huge men at her side. He wrapped a large hand around her bicep, hauling her to her feet. She blinked at the hand for a moment, noticing how his fingers could wrap all the way around her arm.

They half dragged, half led her off the boat and onto what Natasha could only describe later as a floating fortress in the middle of the ocean. Her feet were also chained, so the going was slow. She didn't make it easy for them, she needed time to think. She hung back, resisting, and slowed them as much as possible, forcing them to drag and yank and pull her until they became fed up. Eventually one of the men hauled her off her feet and tossed her over his shoulder. She kneed him in the stomach, furious that she should be treated so cavalierly. He coughed and dropped her. She landed on her side heavily, and the guard aimed a vicious kick to her stomach before hauling her to her feet. He did not try to pick her up again. Natasha wheezed from the blow, following along a little more complacently.

They passed cell after cell, and Natasha quickly sped through her options. It wouldn't have been the first time she was locked up. She would manage the tedium as she always did, flirting with the guards, creating allies of the other cellmates. She was very persuasive, she would figure something out.

MOtion in the cell to her right caught Natasha's eye and she turned just in time to meet the eyes of Clint Barton. His mouth fell open when he saw her, taking in her blood stained hairline and disheveled appearance.

"Clint?"

"Nat?"

She started to smile. With Clint here they would be able to work together to form a plan. But her smile faltered when she noted Clints stricken expression and he quickly began hissing words at her.

"I'm going to get you out Nat, stay strong, I'm not going to let them keep you in there!"

She frowned in confusion as she passed him, trying to understand his stress. Distracted by this puzzle she did not at first notice that the guards led her, not to a traditional cell, but to a small door that opened onto utter darkness. Seeing it at last, she stopped dead in her tracks in shock. She took a faltering step backward but her guards yanked her forward another step, and with a solid grip on each arm, began to remove her cuffs from hands and feet. She stood still, her eyes never leaving the gaping darkness in the depths of the isolation cell beyond the open door before her. A ringing began in her ears, drowning out all other sound, and her vision seemed to narrow to the doorway directly in front of her.

The second the cuffs were off Natasha attacked. She swung her legs up, using their grip on her arm as an anchor and kicked one guard in the face. When his grip loosened she yanked her arm free and rounded on the next guard, raining punches down on his face, sending a kick to the front of his knee with a satisfying crack. He howled, and Natasha bolted, to where she didn't know, they were in the middle of the ocean after all, but she was NOT going to be locked in that room. The first guard caught her by her arm before she made the corridor, yanking her back towards the door and wrapping her in a vision altering headlock. She drove her heel into his foot and then again into his groin and his grip on her throat broke, she stumbled forward gasping. Before she could get her bearings, he had picked her up around the waist and drove her head first into the ground. She lay there, stunned as punch after punch met face and stomach and chest. She rolled away from him but by this time the second guard had hobbled over to help, and together they seized her and dragged her, fighting tooth and nail, into the inky black darkness of the isolation cell, shutting the door behind her with a decisive slam.

Natasha lay gasping on the cold floor of her cell, arms wrapped around her body. For a moment all she could think of were her injuries. She had a sharp pain in her collarbone and her right eye was swelling in what she knew had to be vivid hues of purple and black. Slowly, very slowly, she sat up, noting the sharp pain in her ribs with a gasp. Desperately she searched for any other injuries, any other pain she could focus on, because once her inventory was complete, she knew what would happen next. The visions would come.

She blinked, the all too familiar darkness so thick she couldn't tell the difference between her eyes being open or shut. A flash of a memory shot past her,the echo of the door slamming mirroring a much older echo of a similar door in the Red Room. She flinched, sweat breaking out over her forehead. She crawled on her hands and knees to where she believed the door was and ran her hands over the seemingly solid stone looking for any possible crack of light. There was none. She wrapped her hands protectively around herself, trying to prevent her breathing from coming in short sporadic bursts, but her hands began to shake. _Panic attack_, she thought to herself numbly. She pounded on the walls, desperately seeking the knowledge that the door was here somewhere, that someone could be on the other side. Her scream tore out of her mouth and reverberated around the room. Natasha clamped a hand over her mouth, stifling the sound, but the echo seemed to shriek at her out of another time, to threaten to take her back there.

Natasha was in full panic mode now. She prided herself on always having a plan, always being in control. But here, locked away in a darkness so thick it choked her, the demons of her past had full control. The Red Room had designed her this way. This was the one punishment she knew would break her. They had conditioned her to fear the isolation cell, pumping neurotoxins into her blood, beating her to the point of death and then bringing her back, all surrounded by the oppressive darkness. Despite her effort to rationalize herself into calmness,there was nothing on Earth that terrified her more.

Natasha curled herself onto what she hoped was the doorway of the room. If there was any light to be had outside, she would be sure to see it there. She pressed herself into the door shaking like a leaf as the darkness bit by bit took over.

"Hello Natalia," the smooth sultry voice of Darya Solokov shredded any remaining calm that Natasha could have mustered. The woman appeared before her, wraithlike, her long platinum blonde hair pulled into a tight bun. The woman traced a cold finger along Natasha's cheek, "It's been a long time since we've talked…" Natasha turned her face into the cold stone of the wall, her hand still pressed tightly over her mouth, and choked back a sob.

* * *

Steve pushed the door of Natasha's cell wide with a screech of stone and metal. He stood aside to let Clint inside, peering anxiously in behind him.

"Natasha?" Clint whispered, nervous to be heard by the guards. "It's me Nat, you're safe." A gasp and shudder from the corner of the cell made him turn his head sharply toward her in the dim light. She sat pressed tightly into the wall as if she was trying to become part of the stone herself, her knees under her chin and her head wrapped in her arms. She shook visibly, and Clint knew she was trying hard not to make a sound. Her face was hidden, whether she was hiding from the light or from him he wasn't certain. "Natasha," he whispered, "You're safe. It's just you and me and Steve." He looked back to the door where Steve was keeping watch, "We have to get you out of here Nat."

Natasha squeezed her arms harder around herself, willing herself not to fall apart. She flinched suddenly, but realized the touch on her shoulder was gentle, soothing even. "You aren't alone," the voice whispered, throwing no echoes for her to fear. Slowly, she felt herself becoming enveloped in a pair of strong arms, and lifted off the floor. She shifted from leaning against the stone wall to leaning against Clint's chest, and the heat of him seemed to bring her back to reality, little by little.

Natasha's face was white as a sheet, and her cheeks were stained with tears. Clint set her down gently on the ground and looked at her, indignation on his face, "Of all the places to put you," he seethed. Steve looked at him curiously, and Clint answered his silent question in a low voice, "Isolation is how the Red Room broke in new recruits. Natasha was a particularly difficult student, they left her there for weeks at a time when she did not perform." As if his words had solidified the fact that she was not in either the Red Room or the Isolation cell and longer, Natasha choked and let out a heart wrenching sob. Instinctively she covered her mouth and turned away from Clint and Steve, but could not stem the wracking sobs that broke through her now.

Quickly Steve gathered her to him, looking around sharply for any guards that would be alerted to their presence. Clint stood and drew an arrow, keeping his bow half drawn as he took in their surroundings. Sure enough, a figure stepped out from a bend in the corridor. The mans hands went up, "Don't shoot," a familiar voice said, his tone uneasy.

"Tony," Steve said warily. Clint kept his bow half drawn, his expression angry. Tony stopped a few yards from them, his hands still up before him. He looked at Natasha, half hidden under one of Steve's arms. "I'm sorry," he said, his eyes flickering to Clint, "I didn't know." Clint said nothing, just stared back at Tony. Tony looked to Steve then, "Audio and visual are down for five minutes. Get her out of here." Steve frowned, but then nodded slowly.

"Thanks."

Clint lowered his bow, and Tony walked past him to look down at Natasha. She blinked up at him, face tear stained but her expression carefully blank.

"You were right," Tony said, "We played this wrong." She said nothing, just rested her head tiredly against Steve's shoulder, and nodded.

Tony looked up sharply and Clint and Steve. "Get out of here." Scooping Natasha into his arms, Steve didn't wait, he took off down the hallway back the way they had come, Clint close at his heels.


End file.
